my new neighbor
knocks at the door
in her bathrobe.
she wants
to borrow a cup of sugar.
a half a stick
of butter,
a cup of oil
and flour, a baking
pan
and my oven for an hour.
oh, and a mixer
too, with a big bowl
and a spatula.
she hands me the list
and smiles.
sure, I tell her. why not.
what are neighbors for,
if not
to bake together.
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